


talk me down

by ohcinnamon



Series: the fallen - winged!fob au [3]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, aka: pete misses his old life and patrick comforts him, it's only slight peterick at this point in time but...enough to tag it, winged!fob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-02-01 18:00:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12710067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohcinnamon/pseuds/ohcinnamon
Summary: At the time that Patrick wakes up, Pete isn’t in the van anymore, and he has a bit of an internal freakout.or: "Pete misses his old life, and it's up to Patrick to comfort him."





	talk me down

**Author's Note:**

> just a reminder that these oneshots/fics are NOT in chronological order. however, i will be posting the date at the top of every part so that you can get a general idea of when these events are occurring.
> 
> important: if you actually want to understand this fic and its' circumstances, read [this post](http://trohmenace.tumblr.com/post/163933751212/wingedfob-au) or check out [this account](http://wingedfob.tumblr.com). it explains everything from how feather colors work to different headcanons. as always, thanks for reading, and i hope you enjoy.
> 
> (title from "talk me down" by troye sivan)

_December 2003 —_

 

At the time that Patrick wakes up, Pete isn’t in the van anymore, and he has a bit of an internal freakout. They’d been on their way back to Chicago from doing their last show around the lower half of the Midwest when they’d finally stopped for the night (“we’ve driven around for an _hour,_ Andy, there aren’t any motels, let’s just _pull over_ and go to sleep”), and Pete had been passed out in the passenger seat, then. Now, however, it’s three in the morning, Patrick is awake for some godforsaken reason, and Pete is gone.

Joe’s limbs are spread everywhere because he sleeps like a fucking _starfish,_ so his wing was covering most of Patrick’s face (and slightly suffocating him) as soon as he opened his eyes. But when Patrick had finally blown the feathers out of his face, he could see the empty space in the passenger seat, which kicked his heart into gear because _what the fuck?_ They’ve only had Pete since September; they can’t misplace him already. He’s a pretty okay bassist and an even better friend, so it’s not like they can really afford to lose him. Besides, now that he’s woken up with practically a mouth full of feathers, it’s not like he’ll be going back to sleep any time soon.

So he pushes Joe’s wing off of him, careful not to wake him up as he sits up to pull his coat on — if _Joe_ wakes up, he’ll be loud, and that’ll wake _Andy_ up, and if _Andy_ wakes up he’s going to freak out, and Andy freakouts in the middle of the night are not something that Patrick regularly enjoys. In fact, he tries to avoid them as much as possible. Needless to say, he’s quiet as he creeps out of the van, shutting the door as softly as possible. Peering in through the windows, it seems that Joe has managed to steal the rest of Patrick’s space in the backseat, and Andy is still sound asleep in the driver’s seat, so he should be good to go.

He wraps his arms around himself as he sets out to find his friend, shivering violently, because the temperature is _way_ south of _oh my god I am going to kill Pete for making me go outside,_ and works his way down the dead-end street. He hates winter, he hates Arkansas and its lack of motels near the border, but most of all, he hates Pete’s insomnia for sending him on this excursion in the first place.

Of course, Pete couldn’t just be convenient just for one _fucking_ night and have stayed on the road, because the road ends abruptly after a couple hundred feet, and there’s still no sign of the dark-winged idiot. However, there _is_ a subtle path of trampled grass leading into the field beyond the end of the road, so Patrick trusts his gut despite the alarms going off in his brain, and follows it. The grass is kinda cold and wet from the morning dew, and his socks are soaking through, so Pete _really owes him_ for his one, but he keeps going anyway.

It takes him a while to get to the middle of the field, but he finally spots Pete a little ways off, laying in the grass and staring up at the stars, wings spread out beneath him almost like a blanket. He’s not wearing anything to keep him warm except a threadbare coat that Andy had lent him, and his breath comes out in clouds that prove just how _fucking_ cold it is, but he doesn’t so much as shiver. He’s got a distant look in his eyes, like he’s miles and miles away from Patrick, from all of this, and it’s only when Patrick nudges him with his shoe that he comes back to reality.

“Patrick?” He says, confused, like he’s just snapped out of a trance. “What are you doing awake?”

“What are you doing out of the van?” Patrick counters, looking back at the road, where he’d left Joe and Andy sleeping. “You’re going to freeze to death out here in just that coat. I’m surprised you haven’t already caught frostbite, especially since you’re all wet from the grass.”

Pete just shrugs, pushing himself up into a sitting position. “My feathers are heavier, more durable than yours are. They trap more heat than yours do, probably.” As if proving a point, he wraps his wings around himself, the dark, sleek feathertips glittering under the light of the moon. “Granted, it’s a bit hard to fit them through the wingslots in this coat, since Andy’s wingspan isn’t as broad as mine, but it works well enough, you know. I can still move them enough to keep myself warm.”

“Bullshit,” Patrick says, plopping down onto the ground next to him, wincing at the feeling of the dew soaking through his jeans. His ass hits the ground hard enough to make Pete jump, but he doesn’t move away. He just makes room for Patrick, pressing their knees together. “Even with wings like yours, you’ve still got to be cold. Joe’s feathers are so thick that they trap heat like crazy — yes, more than yours — and yet he still complains about the cold all the goddamn time. So yeah, I’m calling _bullshit_ on that one.”

“Still doesn’t explain why you’re awake,” Pete murmurs, shuffling closer to him to share body warmth.

“I’m _awake_ because I woke up and found out that my bassist was not in the van anymore,” Patrick sighs, looking over at Pete, who dips his head in guilt. “And I was worried sick. And, though it should not be my problem, I actually care about your wellbeing, and didn’t want you to get your ass kicked by Andy once he woke up and realized you were gone.”

“I would’ve come back before any of you woke up,” Pete mumbles, looking up to catch his gaze. “Well, in the morning, that is. I didn’t really plan on any of you waking up early, especially not you.”

“I would’ve woken up anyway. Joe was smothering me with his feathers. I had to get out from under his wings before I suffocated to death.” Patrick gives in and smiles slightly, and Pete mirrors the upward curve of his lips. “Why did _you_ get up and come out here?”

“I don’t know,” Pete admits quietly, biting the inside of his cheek. “I just felt like I was drowning in my thoughts. I had to get out of there.”

“Oh,” Patrick says, a wave of guilt crashing over him for being so annoyed earlier. “I...didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

Pete shrugs, brushing his hand over Patrick’s and grabbing on to show that there’s no hard feelings. “Not your fault. I would’ve freaked out, too, if you were the one gone.”

“What were you thinking about?” Patrick asks, before he can stop himself. “I mean, if it’s all trapped in your head...it might feel better to let it out, you know?”

Pete nods sadly, letting his gaze drift up toward the stars. “I was just thinking about everyone I miss that I had to leave behind. I never told you guys, but I actually had a partner back in The Ethereal, Michael — well, Mikey, I should say.” He chuckles sadly, the memory bittersweet. “He never liked being called by his full name.”

“Oh,” Patrick breathes out, feeling his stomach drop. He Fell when he was sixteen, so he never really had a chance to fall in love before he crashed in the human world. He can still remember how horrible it feels, though, to be torn away from the only thing you know, and he can imagine how love could only make that a thousand times worse. “I’m so sorry, Pete.”

“I sometimes wonder if he remembers me,” Pete muses dejectedly, trying to keep a straight face. “Like, what does he think? Nobody up there knows what happens when we...disappear. I mean, people search, but we all know it’s no use. No one ever comes back when they disappear. Has he moved on? Is he okay?”

Patrick really isn’t sure what to say to that — how are you supposed to make that feel better? — so he says the only thing that comes to mind. “Tell me about him.”

The words fall out of Patrick’s mouth before he really realizes what he’s saying, and the way Pete’s eyes widen almost make him wish he hadn’t said anything at all. He can’t stop now, though, instead forging ahead at full speed on the disaster train. “If you’re comfortable with that, that is. Maybe it won’t feel as bad if you get some of it out?”

“I...okay,” Pete says, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. “He was tall — like, taller than Joe — and he had legs that went on for forever.” He smiles a little bit, color tinting his cheeks. “He had these ugly, dorky glasses that he always wore, and a huge collection of beanies. He had an older brother — Gerard, his name was — and a couple of other close friends, Frank and Ray and Bob. He played the bass, like me, in their band. That’s how we met.” He brushes away the tears welling up in his eyes, and Patrick wraps an arm around him.

He pulls Pete in closer, rubs tiny circles into his shoulder. Pete just sniffles and leans into it, and Patrick's heart breaks for him. “You okay?”

Pete nods, smiling at him sadly. “Yeah, it's just...hard, to remember everything about someone when you know you'll never see them again. I wish you guys could have met him. You would've liked him.”

“He sounds great, Pete,” he murmurs quietly, giving him a comforting smile. “Keep going.”

“He could be quiet, but when he talked, what he said was important,” Pete explains, his eyes lighting up. “He and Gerard would always come up with the most amazing stories to tell. They were inseparable, too — the closest siblings I’ve ever known. They were always so convinced their band was going to make it big, and god, I even believed it, too.” He wipes away some of the tears streaking down his cheeks, laughing a little, bittersweet. “It’s so weird to think that Earth and The Ethereal are so...similar. I can picture him here so easily, it hurts. He would fit in perfectly.”

“He would,” Patrick confirms quietly, squeezing Pete’s shoulder gingerly. “I wish I could’ve met him — all of them, really.”

Pete’s quiet, but Patrick can feel that something’s still not right. He’s tense, body still shaking, and it doesn’t feel _right._ Pete is usually warm, and bright, and so affectionate that once he drapes himself over you, you can’t get him off. This version, of him, however, is cold, and reserved, and he won’t look at anything but the ground, like he might break if he does. This doesn’t sit right in Patrick’s mind, so he nudges him gently, tries to catch his attention, but the way Pete startles looks like he’s been worlds away.

“Could you just…” Pete finally says, swallowing hard and turning back toward Patrick. The reflection of the stars glitters in the tears in his eyes, and Patrick’s heart rips right down the middle. “Could you just hold me? I feel like pieces of me are...are falling apart and floating away, almost.” He begins to shiver again, letting his eyes fall closed. “Please keep me grounded, Patrick. Please.”

“ _Yeah_ ,” Patrick breathes, pulling him into a hug. “Come here, let me hold you.”

Pete crawls closer, draping his legs over Patrick’s and dropping his head onto his shoulder. The positioning is awkward and inconvenient, and Pete sort of ends up halfway in his lap, but it works for them. It feels almost like normal, so Patrick pulls him closer, feeling the shivers from Pete’s body beginning to run through his own. He combs his fingers gingerly through Pete’s hair with one hand, traces abstract patterns into his back with the other, and waits for the storm to pass.

“Don’t let go, please.”

“I won’t.”

And then it’s only comfortable silence, because they don’t need words. Pete sits there, quietly crying until there’s nothing left for him to cry out, and Patrick rubs his back as the minutes crawl on, and they just _breathe_ together and that’s enough. It feels like hours before Pete’s breathing goes back to normal, but Patrick keeps holding him even after it does; even as the stars disappear, even as the sun begins to peek over the horizon, even as both of their eyelids start to droop, he doesn’t let go.

Pete finally calms down enough to talk again, sniffling softly into Patrick’s shoulder. “Patrick, do you think that we matter?”

“On what scale?” Patrick asks, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. “That’s kind of a loaded question.”

“On any scale,” Pete says, closing his eyes, finally beginning to relax. “Just...explain what you think to me. Your voice is comforting to listen to.”

“Okay,” Patrick says, quietly clearing his throat. “I think that we don’t really matter, as individuals, in the grand scheme of things. The universe doesn’t care about us,” he begins, resting his chin on the top of Pete’s head. “But we matter to each other. And you mattered to a lot of people before, and you matter to a lot of people now, and you’re going to matter to even more people in the future. So yeah, maybe the universe won’t remember you, but the important people will. Not just Mikey and your friends from before, but your friends here, too; Andy, Joe...and especially me. I wouldn’t forget you. I don’t think I could if I tried.”

“That’s kind of a sad way to explain it,” Pete yawns, his voice muffled by Patrick’s coat. “But...thank you. And for what it’s worth, I wouldn’t forget you, either, even if the universe might.”

And...for some reason, that realization doesn’t feel as hopeless as Patrick was expecting it to. He never really expected to matter to the universe anyway, and it’s _okay,_ because there are people that care about him, even if he doesn’t have a lot going for himself right now. He’s sitting in a field in Who-The-Fuck-Knows-Where, Arkansas in the middle of December, his pants are soaked through from sitting on the ground, and he’s definitely going to freeze to death, but the sun is coming up, and he’s got his best friend sitting halfway in his lap, falling asleep on his shoulder, and _everything is going to be all right._


End file.
